


Future Rust, Future Dust

by negative_space



Category: Magical Starsign
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, also it's hard to write angsty things when everyone's named after food, heyho, is human/robot technically interspecies stuff, mild to medium levels of angst, this went from darkness to fluff really quickly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:10:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7615765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negative_space/pseuds/negative_space
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it was 3am and i was both nostalgic and unable to sleep, so have this.  it turned out longer than i expected.  spoilers for most of the game i guess</p>
            </blockquote>





	Future Rust, Future Dust

Night-time on Erd seemed to carry with it a loose dusting of coarse sand. Even as everything else stood still in the dark, gentle breezes would carry the grains for short distances before promptly abandoning them; a ceaseless cycle. It wasn't particularly cold, like the few nights spent shivering under cold linen on the frozen Cassia, or even very hot, as Mokka remembered the feeling of baking that came with laying stagnant on Razen for any amount of time.

Those very same planets lingered in the sky now, looking more like stars: Erd was the furthest planet from the sun, and so the scene of the night sky tonight felt very much like looking in through a window. A window to some slightly less doomed civilisations, that was.

_Maybe as early as a year from now..._

_It is said no robot can escape this fate._

Rogan Josh was the group's ally, and so probably meant no ill will. Despite this, his words echoed endlessly in Mokka's mind- and as much as that idea was physically impossible, he could feel their melancholic reverberations wailing out as they bounced against the walls of his metallic head. One, incidentally, that he felt trapped in.

In hindsight it had all seemed so obvious. So he was an old model, so he had been rebuilt, so he was rustier and plumper than the tin-cans marching the town to the west of the wrecked spaceport he sat down in now- that meant nothing in the scheme of things, did it? He still belonged to the ancient network, connected to them as simply as with string. Having hollow insides was nothing peculiar to Mokka, but tonight this felt unbearable, as though he were his own tiniest prototype walking in this clanking, oversized shell. Among other things, he felt stupid for forgetting. How could he have forgotten?

Perhaps it was spending so much time with the organic. _“Someday I might try and kill all of my friends and loved ones in order to sustain myself”_ wasn't something that usually came out of their mouths, after all. Humans- his favourite target for playful derision in the past. _'Fleshy ones'_ , indeed. A human heart, just as his own, was doomed to fail after a while- but the difference was that it didn't take anyone else down with it. It remained nestled in that soft, malleable cage, pumping around vital spirits from the safety of its warm little niche, until it got tired and stopped.

Oh god. Pomelo.

That was the other thing about human hearts: they had some figurative value as well as literal. The heart of the girl Pomelo not only kept her warm but everyone else too. Sometimes Mokka wondered if he could use her smile as solar reserve power- such was how bright she was, how radiant. And it had crushed him to see, just a few days ago, the tender tears she'd wept upon Semolina's death, and how shaky her usual aura of loveliness had been soon afterwards. Human infrastructure forbade true perfection: all those tiny cells and tinier chains of DNA made it too easy for things to go wrong somewhere in that vast ocean that was a single human life. But Pomelo was pretty close.

Oh god. He'd felt upset at the revelation- how had it hit her?

That was her own kind, suspended in globby bubblegum-coloured sinews across the battery chamber- frozen, screaming mouths that could have very well belonged to a great-great-great-grandfather or fourth-cousin-twice-removed. Yet she'd helped him onto the charging station anyway with all her usual serenity, brushing her fingers against his.

Gestures like these were subtle nods to things he had said on a star-filled night- god, how long ago was that, now? A week, two weeks? That was Pomelo's thing: in response to the trance he fell into, orphaning sentences and rushing out an anguished declaration of love, she had chosen to respond in small, tempered doses. She made even the most ancient and deadpan of robots seem like a gibbering fool at times with that calm silence. Could it have been that, in the private language of a quiet girl, the brush of her hand had been an _“I love you too”_?

He feared for her if it was.

Dearest Pomelo- even just putting her on the spot with a spontaneous love confession made him feel deeply ashamed of himself. Potentially hurting her, killing her for naught but his own gain- that was something unbearable. He abhorred the thought of doing it to any of his other friends, but especially Pomelo. He'd vowed to protect her that night, but how was he to do it if the threat was himself?

He wanted to explode; he wanted to jump down the reams of sand that poured down the side of the cliff-face into nothing; he wanted to bury himself within the cadavers of civilisation held within the shattered helms of ships and crumbling radars of this spaceport- hurt Pomelo?- he could never-

“Mokka?”

That was her voice; it shocked him directly back into reality. Pomelo's voice wasn't a thing anyone heard too often, and her light magic usually inclined her to stay in at nights. Trying to detect her presence hadn't even been in the question.

“Pomelo.” He turned around. “What's wrong? Can you not sleep?”

“Can't you?” She seemed so tall, even sylphlike, standing up as he was sitting down; her wide gaze made the stars seem as though they weren't trying hard enough.

“I'm fine.” One advantage of a face that only bore one single optic was that it couldn't possibly betray his expression to her. “Since I was recharged, I'm not tired.”

Damn it all. He'd vowed to himself not to bring that up, but there he was...

“You're feeling sad, Mokka,” she pointed out, sitting down, “possibly frightened, too.”

“How did you know?” Sometimes Mokka wished to be immune to psychoanalysis as well.

“When you said 'recharged',” said Pomelo, folding her pale legs in an elegant composition, “your voice wavered a little. In a funny kind of way, like you were about to cry.”

“Oh.” Truth be told, it wasn't intentional, and neither had he even noticed. “You're... you're awfully talkative tonight, Pomelo.”

“And you're not at all,” she frowned, “so will you tell me what's wrong?”

Pomelo's sudden breach of character had alarmed him, and as such he could only stare into the constellation-stuttered abyss for the following few minutes.

“I don't want you to be scared of me, Pomelo,” he eventually decided on saying.

“I'm not,” she said.

“I won't have any control over myself when... the _time_ comes.” Even despite it being at its lowest volume setting, his voice still seemed to rumble through the soil. “I love you, Pomelo. You know that. I'm scared that it won't be enough.”

“You're scared,” she said, “not me.”

“Perhaps.” There it was- that little spark of bravery inherent in her, the one that made her the unequivocal leader of the team. Just this once Mokka wished it would go away; having her collapse and cry in his arms would maybe rid him of some of the guilt.

“I'm scared of what might happen to Miss Madeleine,” she murmured slowly, “I'm scared of how rotten our world seems to be underneath the surface, I get anxious speaking in public, I have a fear of needles- but I'm not scared of you, Mokka.”

“One day you might have to fight me off,” he said. “It's all very well, me crushing our enemies with boulders, but you? I promised to protect you.”

“Something your programming forces you to do, regardless of your intentions,” she said, tracing shapes in the crevices of his arm, “isn't going to suddenly throw everything else you've done for me and our friends out of the window. Besides-” she grinned- “I'll be able to hold my own. You don't need to worry about me.”

He felt himself heat up- it wasn't the unpleasant kind of heating up, though, like when trying to traverse the forest fire or when Pico got too enthusiastic with his magic. It was a warmth like on a summer's morning back on Kovomaka, when the angle of a window cast the soft sunlight onto his port. It was just as dark now as any desert night would be, but with Pomelo around the difference was negligible.

“The whole reason you're out here is because you didn't want to leave me or Lassi hanging out alone on a weird planet somewhere, after all,” she smiled. “And Lassi's one of my best friends, but the two of us left to our own devices on planets we didn't even think were real? Recipe for disaster.”

He paused for a moment, unable to think of anything to say- “why don't you talk more often, Pomelo?”

“I told you it makes me feel anxious,” she replied, casting her eyes down. “Most places we go to have a lot of noise going on. School, home, any of the other planets- I'm not too good at dealing with it in large amounts. I don't like adding to it.” She smiled again, giving him a fleeting glance full of light. “It's quiet tonight, though. I like it like this.”

“That makes sense,” he said. “I can empathise. When my audio input sensors exceed capacity, it is rarely ever pleasant.”

She giggled. “We've had a lot in common from the get-go, haven't we?” He was tempted to disagree, as the idea of himself with flowing golden hair and a sweet, patient temperament was a ridiculous one, but she cast down her eyes again. “Actually, speaking of which...”

“What is it?” A slight blush was attracted to Pomelo's face now, and Mokka readied the requisite intrigue for dealing with another one of her surprises- he'd have lied if he said he wasn't slightly excited, though.

“You know on the Starfall Festival,” she tailed off into a mumble, “when, um, you said those things, and then I walked off? You know I- I wasn't trying to be rude or anything, right? Lassi whisked me off to go get some sugarstars because they were giving them out, and I wanted to say something, but-”

“Don't worry about that.” Despite this, hearing her acknowledge it felt like the heavens had opened and he had been enshrined in a golden light. “I don't know what I expected, really. I don't even think I expected a reply from you.” It was a nervous tic that she'd infected him with: he began to draw lines in the sand with his finger. “Just as long as you know.”

“Oh, but I wanted to say-” she abruptly stopped herself, cleared her throat in a little shuffling noise, and hopelessly tried to shield the pinkness of her face with her hand- “I, um. I feel the same way.”

“You do?” The next line prematurely reached its end, and he turned to face her. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course I do!” she exclaimed. “I would never lie to you, and besides, don't you have that little detector thing that would know if I did?”

“That is a point,” he admitted.

“You see-” her ivory face began to flood with all manner of reds and pinks with even a hint of gold, like a sunset- “I love you too! You always have been really special to me, I don't care what anyone says- I don't know if it's your database or your smarts or what, but you know me like nobody else does, and, well...” A huge smile, not subtle in the least, began to crawl across. “We're all the way out in space, but just having you around feels like home.”

Everything that had plagued him earlier was lost now- all Mokka felt at the moment was a rush of affection for the girl before him. “Oh, Pomelo, I'm glad...” He felt the pitch of his voice becoming derailed, and felt like something of an idiot, but this was ameliorated by another look at her face.

“We'll deal with the future as it comes, okay?” Mokka noticed the sky was lightening behind her; it felt as though it was doing so on command. “This adventure has really tried to throw us for a loop, I'll admit, and it's been crazy, but you have me, Mokka. Lassi, too, and Chai, and Pico, and Sorbet. So don't be sad, and don't be scared.”

“I promise,” he said into the sand. “If it's for you, Pomelo- I'll stay strong, whatever it takes.”

“Good!” she said. “And besides, there's a much more important aspect of the future we should be focusing on- after we save the magicians and Miss Madeleine, I'm taking you on a date. Worry about what you're going to wear.” She winked, and he felt some part of his system crash, but he paid it no mind.

“I'm a robot, Pomelo,” he said, trying to disguise the blatant giddiness that had just washed over him, “robots don't get taken on dates. Your human 'date' activities are usually restricted against us. Pico and Chai attempted to get me on an ice rink once. It was immensely embarrassing.”

“I'll find a way,” she said, her smile turning almost impish. “Anyway, don't you think we should return to the inn? That sand around you is going to turn to glass if you keep sitting there while you're overheating like that.”

“You're overheating too,” Mokka retorted, “it's just that your way of overheating is pink and adorable, as opposed to mine, which is just entirely uncomfortable.”

“Oh, you're right!” Pomelo mock-gasped. “I might malfunction if I go on like this.”

“And we can't have that,” he said, curtly, taking the girl by the hand and guiding her up. “As our team leader, it's vital that you're in optimal condition. You know, for team-leading activities and whatnot.”

“Whatnot indeed!” she mused.

Together, they walked back to the inn, their level of chatter slowly mellowing into a comfortable silence. They walked in the direction of the rising sun, and in the direction of a future that, while uncertain, held a few precious sparks of hope.  And that was enough, for now.


End file.
